The Pink Gas
by flah7
Summary: McKay wants to prove to Beckett that going offworld isn't as terrifying as the physician thinks it is. You just know it's not going to end well.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Pink Gas (SGA)  
Author: HeatherF  
Characters: Beckett, McKay, Sheppard (Ford and Teyla too)  
Warnings: My first SGA fic  
Season/Episode: Season One sometime (certainly before Ford jumped through the gate with his bizarre eye and Sheppard became a Colonel).  
Spoilers: None  
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made etc.  
Thanks: Tipper--she works hard and does all sorts of neat things with color changes and the such. Half the time I don't know what to change. She does.

Summary: Ford and McKay want to prove to Beckett that going off-world isn't as terrifying as the physician thinks it is. You just know it's not going to end well.

A/N: Any and all mistakes are mine. If there are supposed technological glitches, those are mine and are just cleverly hidden good ideas that no one else has thought of yet.

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**PART ONE**

"Hey, McKay," Sheppard tipped his chin up in greeting as he entered into the small curtained off area of the infirmary that housed Drs. McKay and Beckett. "How's the arm?" he asked as he neatly slid his way between the foot of the two beds.

Sheppard was relieved to find that McKay was looking better this morning than he had the previous evening. With the broken arm set and casted and the drug induced lethargy and malaise worn off, the astrophysicist was looking more like himself.

The morning before had been a hell of an off world adventure. It had started off smooth enough, if one allowed for Dr. Beckett's great hesitancy in leaving Atlantis and adventuring out into the unknown and if one ignored McKay's blustering as he tried to soothe the medical doctor's fears in his own roundabout, strangely obtuse manner.

The planet had been pleasant. High alpine forest, little undergrowth, wide game trails, occasionally grassy glades, all very picturesque and postcard like.

Sheppard had known it was too good to last.

When Ford had stumbled across the small stone building with its cracked, grayish wood planked door and wrought, iron hinges, no one gave much thought to it. There were no life signs, no evidence of advanced technology and certainly no readings indicating a ZPM.

That was when McKay, in his rush to prove to Carson that off world exploration was indeed 99 pure tedium, managed to expose the 1 of pure unadulterated terror that was known to occur on not so rare occasions.

McKay had pushed open the heavy wooden door with too much enthusiasm, scanner in hand, he grabbed the vid cam from Ford and confidently entered through the small doorway. The heavy door swung surprisingly easy, but the strength of the iron forged bolts and hinges gave testament that their appearance was not just for show. The door swung ominously silent, revealing an apparently dark, dirt floored, windowless room.

Sheppard knew, just knew he should have reached forward and yanked Rodney back by his collar. He kicked himself now, because he knew that deep down McKay and Ford were jinxing the mission by trying to down play the dangers of off world travel to ease the mind of Beckett.

Sheppard had been certain it was going to backfire and bite them all on the ass.

In the end, it was Rodney who was catapulted into the room by some unknown force, slammed hard enough against the far wall to snap a forearm like twig and knock the wind out of him before he could even get a yell off. The vidcam skittered across the floor following the hastily flung scanner. And surprising no one but probably himself, it was Carson, not thinking and acting as only a bull headed Scotsman would do, who charged into the room, which suddenly started quickly filling with a sweet smelling pink vapor, yelling for Rodney.

Sheppard sighed, remembering back on yesterday morning's fiasco of a mission. He and Ford had donned their breathing regulators, stole deep breaths and charged into the room after the two impulsive doctors. They managed to find them with little difficulty or mishap and dragged them both out. Teyla, similarly protected, ducked in after the vidcam and scanner.

Rodney had still yet to get his breath back, and lay on the ground gulping for air like a landed fish with panic rampant in his eyes. The hand of his broken arm twitched and flopped, nerves firing as his mind worked feverishly to keep the pain blocked.

Beckett knelt beside him, trying to capture the flopping hand, avoiding the gross misaligned forearm while all the while coughing uncontrollably.

Sheppard had slammed the door closed and ripped off his closed breathing mask. With Ford and Teyla's help he managed to dragged and cajole the remainder of his jinxed team far from the little stone shed to the protection of the surrounding high timber forest.

Rodney finally managed to gasp in a breath which was followed closely by moans of pain and distress, which, after looking at McKay's arm, Sheppard couldn't blame the man. The twisted extra backward bend in the forearm just below the elbow was horrifically unnatural and nauseating just to glance at.

Sheppard couldn't seem to stop staring at it and wincing.

Beckett had managed to get his own coughing under control, drugged Rodney to alleviate some of the pain, and then outwardly asked what they all thought the purpose of the pink gas was for.

Two hours later, back in the Atlantis infirmary, Rodney's arm had been set and he was comfortably smothered under some of the strongest pain killers in Carson's arsenal.

Zelenka and Grodin were able to download and decipher the information recorded from Rodney's scanner and the vidcam.

Apparently the little stone house had at one time been used for storage. Of what? Grodin nor Zelenka could decide. The booby traps had been designed by the builders to protect their stash and prevent future visits. Trespassers were to be incapacitated not killed. Sheppard could only imagine that the builders didn't want to have to deal with rotten and decaying bodies when and if they returned to their little building of keepsakes. Empty now of whatever treasures the mysterious builders had once stored, it appeared as if their little house of tricks was still working

The pink gas, a mimicker of certain cytokines and prostaglandins, was used to incapacitate an intruder, but not kill. Strong evidence that a sick trespasser who could run away with out their bounty, was better than a dead trespasser stinking and rotting in close proximity to whatever the original builders held dear.

Beckett smiled widely. He had just the antidote for the misty pink gas whose chemicals sailed easily in his blood stream and sat concentrated in the vascular beds of his lungs.

He felt fine.

And the pleased grin was evidence enough that he would continue to feel fine.

Sheppard still couldn't shake the crestfallen expression on the good doctor's face only hours later.

Apparently the cytokines and prostaglandins in the vapor were just different enough from earth cytokines and prostaglandins that the normal inhibitors Dr. Beckett and his group would have used to combat such substances failed. Miserably.

And apparently the chemicals were just different enough that the effects of the pink little gas were delayed.

Dr. Beckett's grin had been replaced by a worried frown when the realization had finally settled that he would not continue to feel fine for much longer.

McKay had remained ominously silent lying in his bed watching Dr. Beckett pace back and forth, with his white coat billowing behind him as he tried to brainstorm ways to beat the startlingly familiar, yet frightfully different chemicals.

Sheppard understood the guilt Rodney was feeling and certainly sympathized with him in the helplessness of it all. There was apparently nothing they could do but wait for the cocktail of agents to simply take hold and run their course.

It was with some trepidation that Sheppard, McKay, Ford and Teyla waited and watched from the side lines as Beckett and his medical virtuosos tried to find an antidote for Carson's impending illness.

Beckett had eventually stopped his frantic pacing and sharp u-turns which resulted in him hastily pulling books off a shelf and flashing through pages. He would eventually stop his furious reading and note taking, lay his pencil down and rest his forehead in his palms and sigh. After a while, he simply put the books away, stopped the harried scribbling and noted McKay's unusual silence.

It was then Sheppard realized just how much Beckett cared and sacrificed for his patients. Sure, the Major knew the Doctor had compassion for those under his care but when Beckett had stopped his frantic research to offer reassurances and unconcerned smiles to ease McKay's building sense of guilt and self assumed blame, Sheppard began to understand just what Beckett was willing to forgo for the sake of a patient.

The Major had leaned crossed arm against the wall while Carson assured Rodney and Weir, though as unpleasant and as uncomfortable as the next few days would be, he would survive and be back to full duty before Rodney.

McKay had scoffed and sputtered but Sheppard recognized the look of relief that relaxed Rodney's muscles.

Sheppard appreciated the Scotsman's reassurance and light tone but he did not miss the underlying worry or the tinge of apprehension that haunted Beckett's smile when he left the small group and exited the infirmary in retreat to his lab.

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TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**THE PINK GAS**

**PART TWO: VOODOO**

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It was a little over eight hours later that the effects started to show themselves. Muscle pain, malaise, fatigue, loss of appetite. Not much later, Beckett was tossing and turning in the empty bunk next McKay with an IV in the back of his hand as a fever steadily climbed.

Now twelve hours post exposure, the little pink gas had taken full effect.

Rodney was sitting up, arm set and casted by none other than his temporary roommate, who lay insensible in the next bed over.

Yeah, Sheppard understood Rodney's unease.

The Major's eyes glanced over at the medical doctor to confirm that Beckett did indeed look much worse

Even expecting it didn't make it any easier to witness. It was frustrating to know that despite the twelve hour window of opportunity to stave off the airborne pathogen, Beckett and his team of gifted medical gurus had been unable to prevent the current acute spiking fever and all the misery that accompanied it.

The fever would be transient. No lasting effects. Zelenka had reassured them of that after repeatedly checking and rechecking his and Grodin's deciphering of the ruins on the walls of the ancient chamber.

Sheppard stared from Beckett to McKay, waiting to hear how the astrophysicist felt and fearing it would not be the cliff note version.

"Fine." Rodney's frustration and disgust manifested itself in his curt truncated answer.

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. He was fairly confident he had never met anyone who could put so much negative emotion into one word.

"How's the doc?" the major asked, swiveling his eyes from the bed restricted scientist to the restlessly sleeping medical doctor.

"Fever 's still up, been complaining about it being hot, and he doesn't know where he is when he manages to open his eyes," Rodney answered.

Sheppard raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side at the clear concern. He knew Rodney cared about Beckett and Ford and Teyla and even himself, but the man took great lengths not to expose that concern. Sheppard was not too sure he understood why, but he accepted it. It was what made McKay, McKay.

"What's-his-name over there," Sheppard tilted his head back and to the side, quickly indicating the dark skinned 'no name' doctor that was now temporarily in charge of the infirmary until Beckett was back on his feet, "said we just have to wait it out, let it run its course. Not much anybody can do for him."

"Voodoo," Rodney spat, his injury forgotten while he pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Only one around here with an ounce of brains is Carson." McKay stared at the pale features and fever tinged cheeks of his 'roommate.' "And it's not like he's doin' himself any good."

As if on cue, Carson weakly started pulling on his scrub shirt, trying to peel it away from his skin all the while kicking furtively at his blankets, "Hot, hot, hot," he mumbled rolling uneasily onto his side and facing McKay and Sheppard.

The two watched silently.

Their attention turned when the doctor on duty pulled back the curtain and entered the little space. A stethoscope draped loosely around his neck and a binder was held loosely in his large hand. The pockets of his lab coat appeared stuffed with scraps of paper and pen marks lined the outer material where he had missed returning an uncapped pen to his pocket, apparently multiple times. A large ink spot blotted the far bottom corner of the once pristine coat.

"Gentlemen," The doctor greeted the major and astrophysicist with a smile, "How's our patient doing?"

"Arm hurts. Carson looks like shit," Rodney pointed out.

The doctor sighed, "Yes, unfortunately he does."

The doctor strode behind Sheppard to the far side of Beckett's bed and placed his binder on the nearby chair. He patted his pockets, crinkling barely visible scraps of paper searching futilely for a pen.

Sheppard quickly looked over his shoulder to McKay and mouthed, "What's his name?"

Rodney merely shrugged, not about to tell him.

Sheppard stared daggers at the scientist. McKay scrunched his face and snarled back at the Major.

"He going to be okay?" Sheppard asked, turning away from McKay and facing the Doctor with the elusive name.

Sheppard watched as the Internist searched his pockets blindly with his fingers. He eventually gave up and opened the binder. Held it up by its stiff edges and shook it, rattling the papers inside of it to no avail. He shook his head in disgust and frustration.

The major finally cleared his throat, and when he had the doctor's attention, Sheppard tapped his own ear.

The physician's eyes widened as he brought his hand to the upper rim of his ear and found his missing pen. "Ahh there it is. Thank you, Major." He then turned his attention back to his binder, noting the time and IV fluid levels. He slipped the pen into his pocket after three tries and adding three more lines to the outer coat.

"Glad to help."

Rodney whimpered softly in distress.

"That arm bothering you, Dr. McKay? Carson has written down in his orders that you may receive more Percodan if warranted."

McKay paled not wanting someone who couldn't find a pen stuck in their ear shooting drugs into his body. "No, it's fine. I'll wait for Carson."

The Internist sighed, "It maybe a while Dr. McKay." The doctor looked up and held McKay's eyes. "It's easier to stop the pain before it takes hold than it is to beat it back."

"I'll wait for Carson," Rodney reiterated with less humor and a baleful stare of his own. His arm was not bothering him as much at the moment. The subcutaneous injection the nurse so unkindly harpooned in his posterior still thankfully lingered in his blood stream.

Sheppard swatted his leg. Telling him to 'knock it off.' McKay harrumphed at him

The physician merely nodded and placed his stethoscope in his ears one handed while resting his other hand on Beckett's forehead. He whistled softly.

McKay shot a worried glance at Sheppard, slowly circling his index finger next to his temple while giving the examining doctor a wide eyed look.

Sheppard shrugged. He could escape if needed.

Beckett irritably turned his head away from the touch, muttering softly.

"Easy, Carson." The doctor's soft voice easily carried his concern and subtle authority.

"Why's he getting worse?" Rodney asked not liking the idea that he didn't understand something that was happening right next to him and might very honestly start happening to him soon. That was not good, not good at all especially looking at Beckett. The man looked horrible.

The doctor merely held up a hand silently asking for patience as he auscultated Beckett's chest.

Carson attempted to push the hands away, but his movements were feeble and uncoordinated at best.

The doctor gently deflected the haphazardly moving hands and placed a restraining hand on Beckett's shoulder as Carson tried to roll away.

"McKay going to get this too?" Sheppard asked. He hoped not.

Rodney paled at the thought, stared at Beckett and then back to the doctor. The doctor didn't register the conversation and simply fitted the bell of the stethoscope over different areas of his patient's chest listening to the snapping close and rushing sounds of blood shooting through his patient's heart valves.

"Oh God, I'm going to get this aren't I?" Rodney flopped back onto his bed, careful of his arm. "Oh God, dead man lying here. I'm dead." He rolled his eyes in the direction of Beckett and Dr. "No-Name" and muttered, "Dead man. I'm dead." He paused staring up at the ceiling testing the fingers of his broken arm and cringed at the sharp twinge of pain and muttered, "Oh God, I'm dead." The shot was wearing off. Beckett was not close to being fine and that idiot doctor didn't know he had a pen stuck in his ear. He was a dead man.

The doctor once again held his hand up for silence as he slid the stethoscope to either side of Beckett's chest.

Carson again tried to push the hands away from him.

"Almost done, Carson," the internist quietly reassured.

Sheppard stepped forward to help, but paused.

The physician neatly redirected Beckett's intrusive hands that seemed determined to push him away.

The major appreciated the gentle redirection the doctor employed to avoid confronting or bullying his patient.

Carson was in good hands, despite the whole missing pen thing.

When he was finally finished the Doctor straightened up, removed his stethoscope one handed again and draped it casually around his neck.

"No, Dr. McKay, rest assured you are not going to get this," the Internist reached over and gently pulled Beckett's eyelid back checking the sclera of each eye and what little he could see of the rolled pupils.

Sheppard watched him, recognizing the same checks that Carson did on them when they were under his care. He silently wondered if medical doctors had their own check list of sorts like pilots did before taking off for a mission.

"You sure? McKay was in that little shed when that pink gas started flowing in," Sheppard pointed out.

"According to the reports..." The doctor looked up and met Sheppard and then McKay's eyes before turning his attention to running his hands under and around Beckett's jaw and neck.

Beckett took some exception to this and tried to use his arms and shoulder to escape the touch. "Stop," Beckett mumbled trying unsuccessfully to dissuade the hands from touching him.

"Almost through, Carson." The examining doctor simply worked around the movement.

"...Dr. McKay had the wind knocked out of him when he broke his arm," the physician redirected his conversation back to the other two men as he ran his hands under the back of Carson's neck.

"Quit," Beckett mumbled and rolled away from searching hands which bent his neck slightly.

"Is there a point here?" McKay stated, feeling slightly insulted but not sure why.

Sheppard snapped his fingers and smiled triumphantly at McKay having figured out the answer before the scientist.

"He sure did, was lying on the ground gasping like a landed fish, wasn't taking in any air at all, not one breath." Sheppard chuckled at McKay's disgusted and woefully defiant glare.

"Doesn't explain why Carson's getting worse," Rodney snared up at Sheppard while directing his question to the doctor. He'd have figured it out. It was the lingering effects of the strong narcotics Beckett had given him earlier when he set Rodney's arm that were interfering with his thought processes. Then there was that horrible shot with the potential 14g pig bleeding needle to his hip--that hadn't help his mental acuity at all.

The internist watched the other two men for a moment as he pressed his hands lightly over Beckett's abdomen.

Carson tolerated that no better than the chest auscultation or lymph node palpation and once again swatted ineffectively at the hands that pressed on specific areas of his abdomen.

"Alright, we're through, Carson."

The doctor slowly straightened up, gently catching one of Beckett's wrists and slid his hand into Beckett's as he placed it back on the bedside. He held his patients forearm and hand for just a moment as if trying to convey a sense of strength or perhaps security in a situation which stripped one of such things.

Sheppard could appreciate the gesture and understood the loyalty and devotion Beckett garnered from his people without trying.

"The two predominant chemicals in the gas, though slightly altered work amazingly similar to those found in the human body. They work synergistically in most cases, though not always, and constantly initiate more broad reaching pathways which can, and in this case do, cause systemic effects, which are often opposing as well as synergistic. Each one initiates and/or feedbacks and/or inhibits other pathways, other loops, reaching further and causing more changes. They have quite far reaching and extremely potent effects, as you can see," the physician said, looking again to Rodney and Sheppard.

McKay and Sheppard continue to stare as if stuck on pause.

He sighed and tried to find a playing field that all would understand, "Think of it as amplification loops, Dr. McKay, redundancy pathways---some faster than others---some short acting, others longer acting and always initiating other pathways and loops. Some shut things 'off,' others turn them 'on' while others just make things blink."

"Yes, yes, yes, stop please," McKay begged. "I get it, I get it. Just stop." Rodney sighed and gave the Doctor a pointed look, "He sucked in the bad stuff, I didn't, and now he's getting worse, and I won't. That's all you had to say." Rodney waved his good hand in a dismissive manner shaking his head.

Sheppard smirked at Rodney and then turned his attention back to the internist.

"Doc, he was in there for only a few seconds," Sheppard pointed out, enjoying the look of disgust on Rodney's face.

"Dr. Beckett described it as a sweet smelling gas." Again he was met with blank stares.

With a patient nod of his head he continued, "It's sweet so that a person would inhale it deeper into their lungs, instinctively take a deeper breath, almost guaranteeing a hefty dose." The doctor pulled the blanket up around Carson's midsection.

Carson immediately started trying to push it away.

"His blood stream is loaded with it, but luckily his lungs are clear." The Doctor paused in thought, "It's actually quite lucky because if these worked exactly as our own, at such a high dose he would most assuredly die."

"If they were the same, you could have treated him," McKay pointed out.

"Perhaps saved his life, yes, but not without some significant damage to his lungs and vasculature and accompanying other organ systems, like renal, nervous system and the such."

"Oh." Sheppard answered.

"If you will excuse me, I must finish my rounds," The doctor gathered his binder, searched for his pen patting his ears first.

"Your pocket, Doc, you put it in your pocket," Sheppard pointed out.

McKay settled back in his bed with another discouraged whine.

"Ahh, yes, thank you, Major," The internist tucked the binder under his arm and looked to McKay, "Get some rest Dr. McKay. Carson, here, would be upset with us if he found you unwell." He headed for the curtained exit but was brought up short by Rodney's question.

"Is he okay?"

The doctor sighed tiredly, hopefully with these two here, keeping Carson company, he could catch a few hours of shut eye.

"He's sick, Dr. McKay," The doctor turned his own gaze to Beckett who continued to shift restlessly. The high fever and muscle aches kept him from truly resting, "uncomfortably, and woefully sick."

"Gee thanks," McKay muttered, clearly expressing what a big help that observation was.

"When's he going to start to get better?" the major asked.

"He'll get a little worse before he turns the corner." The doctor stared at Carson again, almost feeling the man's pain, as Carson yet again, tugged at his scrub shirt and tried to twist away from it.

"He's not sweating," Sheppard pointed out.

"He won't until the fever breaks," the doctor responded. "Good night gentlemen, and really try not to worry." With that the doctor was gone.

"Voodoo," McKay muttered.

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TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**THE PINK GAS**

**PART THREE: CAN'T STAND THE HEAT**

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"Voodoo," McKay muttered.

Sheppard chuckled and walked between the two beds.

Beckett's eyes blinked opened. They were half hooded, red rimmed and sunken. His gaze remained unfocused as he continued to tug on the scrub shirt with greater anxiety but with equally poor results.

"Hey, easy there doc," Sheppard tried to soothe as he stepped forward--and stopped unsure of what to do. "Hey? You hear me doc? Carson?" Sheppard hunched over trying to capture Beckett's gaze.

"Iz hot," Beckett mumbled again stretching an arm out away from his body dragging the IV line with it, forcing Sheppard to dodge out of the way. The aluminum pole tottered with the movement, nearly tipping over.

Sheppard shot out a hand to steady the post but stopped before actually touching it.

"I know, Doc, I know," Sheppard agreed, anything to keep the frustration and irritation from building too much in Carson. "Dr. What's-his-name said it's going to pass. You just need to ride it out."

Beckett pushed at the blankets again in irritation.

Sheppard turned to Rodney, "Anyone else been by?"

"Just the nurses and that witch doctor Carson's got working for him."

Sheppard sighed, sitting partially on the side of Beckett's bed, and turned with his back to the foot of the bed. "McKay, they've patched your ass back together enough times; I'd think that you'd realize they know what their doing."

"Carson," McKay snarled back, "has patched me back together; he's the only one who knows what he's doing."

Beckett once again started fidgeting, kicking at the blankets in an uncoordinated attempt to shed them. He shoved his pillow partially away in irritation, twisting away from it muttering, "Hot."

"Come on Doc, take it easy," Sheppard said a little nervously, uncomfortable with seeing the steadfast Beckett struck down by a simple vapor. A pink one no less.

Carson mumbled again turning back on his side, twisting the scrub shirt up under his torso. He shoved his hands against Sheppard as if the close proximity of a body emanated too much heat. "Hot."

"Alright, alright, I'm standing up," Sheppard responded giving the insensible Carson a put upon look.

"Why's he breathing so fast like that?" John asked as Beckett once again pulled at the scrub shirt and partially succeeded in removing his blanket.

Carson settled down for an uneasy moment, as if his body was testing to feel if it was indeed cooler.

"Vapor illness?" The sarcasm in Rodney's answer had Sheppard turning his full attention to the astrophysicist and scowling at him.

Sheppard skewered up his face shaking his head at Ford's new name for the gas.

Rodney ignored it and pointed out, "You better fix his blanket before nurse Helga storms in here and bites your head off."

As if on cue, said nurse called out from somewhere behind the curtain and announced her approach to the secluded men.

"Oh," Sheppard quickly grabbed the sliding blanket as it puddled itself more on the floor than on the patient.

Nurse Helga was not known for her benevolent bed side manner at least not when it came to McKay or Sheppard.

Sheppard draped the blanket back up over Carson. "Sorry Doc, but Helga will kick my ass."

With the blanket settled back in place, Carson began moving in a jerky uncomfortable manner, muttering again about it being hot.

Sheppard watched for an uneasy moment, feeling a tinge of guilt but fearing the impending run in with the nurse.

"Listen McKay, I've got to go for a bit." John backed away from the beds and headed for the curtain, feeling bad about replacing the blanket after Beckett's hard fought battle to dislodge it.

"Oh, fine, a rat abandoning a sinking ship," Rodney mumbled out slumping back down in his bed as he listened to the impending heavy foot falls of the thick soled orthopedic shoes of one Nurse Helga, the Hulk.

"Hey, I'm no rat," Sheppard retorted indignantly.

"Sure, fine, whatever, enjoy your block of cheese."

"Ahh, look who is here, my two least favorite patients in all the Pegasus Galaxy." Helga's deep voice matched her thick calves which seemed to stream line right to her heels, obliterating any part of a tapered ankle. She rested large callused hands on solid block hips and tapped her blunted fingers against her uniform pockets. "Boys."

"I was just leaving," Sheppard stammered and cut and run like a wide receiver running a key hole pattern.

"Bastard," Rodney muttered. He sunk down even further in his bed as the nurse approached. McKay breathed a sigh of relief when she focused her attention on Beckett.

"Oh Dr. Beckett, you're burning up," she muttered, laying a knuckled hand on his forehead. He rolled his head away irritated, muttering and insensible, "Hot."

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TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**THE PINK GAS**

**PART FOUR: SHENANIGANS**

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Eight hours later...

"Hey, McKay, wait up," Sheppard called as he jogged down the corridor to catch up the astrophysicist. "You going to visit the Doc?"

Rodney stopped and turned around, letting out a soft sigh of distraction, "No, I figured I'd visit Nurse Helga and her vampire sisters."

"Oh well then," Sheppard walked passed Rodney and entered the infirmary, "I'll leave you be. Didn't figure you'd miss them so quickly after being released."

Rodney screwed up his face, mocking Sheppard as both men entered the infirmary. The night lights cast the large room into deep shadows accenting the different depths of grey.

"Anyone hear anything about how he's doing?" John headed for the small curtained privacy area with Rodney beside him. McKay kept a nervous eye out for any potential blood sucking medical personnel.

"Nothing since I left, which I remind you was right after your graceless retreat from that hulking genetic monstrosity of a nurse."

"Oh face it, McKay," Sheppard reached forward and started pulling the soft brown/grey curtain back, "you have crush on her." John's teasing smile dipped.

"I do no..." McKay's retort died on his lips.

Both men stared at the empty unmade bed with its blanket pooled on the floor and IV stand on its side.

"That doesn't look good," Sheppard muttered.

"You think?" McKay bit back, squatting down trying to stare under the bed, his casted arm resting on his bent knee.

"What the Hell are you doing?" Sheppard asked incredulously.

"What? He's not in the bed," McKay spat back, hating to have to state the obvious.

"So maybe he'd be under it?" Sheppard quipped back in disbelief. "He's smarter than that, I'd think."

"You weren't, the last time you escaped," Rodney jabbed back with an 'I know something you don't' air as he straightened up.

"What are you talking about, McKay?" Sheppard furrowed his brow trying to pull the information out of Rodney's head with just his glare.

McKay rocked back on his heels with his arms folded across his chest with his 'I'm smarter than you' face on.

Sheppard sometimes really wanted to wipe that look off.

"Nothing."

The major was prevented from any further interrogation when Emily the night nurse twirled her way over. Sheppard wondered what exactly Carson looked for in his nurses? Emily, though kind and gracious and always willing to please, worked in her own private galaxy.

"Oh good, someone to sit with Dr. Beckett. He's quite restless. His fever's climbed some but that's normal at night, but it'd do him some good to have company," she sighed, "especially friends." She smiled at the two men, her head sawing slightly left and right with the movement of her eyes. Her expression became slightly downcast, "though I don't think he'll be terribly aware of you. He's quite sick, you know." Emily strode passed the two men and pushed the curtain completely open.

She gasped and then whirled around and pinned the two men with a murderous accusing stare, "What have you done with Dr. Beckett? He's too sick for your shenanigans."

The major suddenly found himself staring at a tinier version of nurse Helga.

"Us?" Sheppard and McKay both backed away with hands clasped to their chests. "We didn't do anything."

"He was already gone," Sheppard pointed out.

"Where would he go?" Emily asked herself, brushing past the two men and heading toward Beckett's office.

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Sheppard cued his comlink as he and McKay headed toward the gate room to meet with Drs. Zelenka and Weir, "Ford? You find anything?"

"Nothing, his quarters are empty---so's his lab."

Teyla's voice chimed in seconds later, "He has not been seen on the upper levels."

"This is pointless," McKay muttered, "he could be anywhere. We need to do a computer grid search." McKay hit his earpiece in irritation, "Zelenka, start a life signs scan, but focus for body temperatures…" Rodney paused and stared pointedly at Sheppard for an answer.

"What?" John asked taken back and slightly perturbed.

Rodney signed in exasperation, "What did that dimwit nurse say his fever was running the last time she took it?"

"Oh, one oh four point three."

"You hear that, Zelenka?"

"Already searching, Rodney."

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McKay, Sheppard, Teyla, and Ford converged on the control room, forming a half circle around Zelenka and Weir watching the screens for a hit.

With each passing moment, Sheppard became more and more antsy. "Where the Hell could he have gone?" He stepped away from the group and then turned and looked at the others, "I thought he was supposed to be too sick to go anywhere."

"He was complaining of being hot when I visited with him, though I do not think he was aware I was there," Teyla offered.

"Yes, he was very agitated when I visited him before supper, mumbling he was hot. The doctor assured me it was just the effects of the fever," Weir agreed.

Sheppard blew out a frustrated breath and leaned a shoulder against one of the large glass panels that overlooked the Gateroom below. He folded his arms and released a steadying breath between gritted teeth. Waiting when something needed to be done was not his forte.

"Nothing," Zelenka informed everyone once the computer finished its scan.

"That's impossible," Rodney stated. He reached over Zelenka in impatience and, one handed, retyped in the parameters before sending the computer searching yet again.

"Maybe he went swimming," Ford offered half in jest.

The room froze.

Eyes swiveled from face to face desperately searching for someone to dispel the idea.

The tension nearly sparked with the sudden loud hollering of a young voice.

"Major Sheppard! Major Sheppard!" Jinto hailed over the Atlantis intercom system. "Someone's in the water! Major Sheppard hurry to the North Pier! Someone's in the water!"

"Shit," was echoed around the room as people suddenly sprang into action.

"It is alright, Jinto. We are on our way," Teyla calmly informed the boy as she followed the others out of the gate room.

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TBC


	5. Chapter 5

THE PINK GAS

PART FIVE: NIGHT-SWIMMING

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"Explain to me why we aren't in a puddle jumper?"

"How'd you like me to land it?" Sheppard snarled out again, "Maybe drop a rope to him and tell him to climb up?"

"We could have dumped a rescue swimmer in after him and hauled him up in basket,'" Ford joked.

"He'd kill us when he found out," The major pointed out. He didn't understand Beckett's hesitation when it came to stargate travel or flying puddle jumpers. However, he did respect the man's slow to anger temper. Sheppard had learned early in his military career that it was the easy going, fun loving types that you did not want to push too far.

Their conversation had been interrupted when a puddle jumper flew over head, searching the black water.

Sheppard, McKay, Ford and Teyla headed out in a military inflatable. To McKay's eye, it seemed more ocean worthy than most harbor boats.

McKay grudgingly conceded that for once Ford and his military arsenal were both impressive and well planned out. Who the hell would go to the lost city of Atlantis and not bring some type of boat? Ford's superior smile still irritated Rodney just a bit when the Lieutenant quickly pointed out he was a Marine and they were always prepared.

Rodney was waiting for Sheppard to flash a condom but realized he wasn't a Marine. The comment earned him a scowl.

It took only a few minutes to launch the large sturdy inflatable with its own small version of a pilot house, onto the black ocean. Two puddle jumpers had already started a grid search.

"You see him yet?" Rodney asked as he stood at the starboard side of the inflatable, scanning the water with a spot light. The coiled spring cord slapped gently against his leg.

"No," Sheppard answered as he piloted the boat slowly around the North Pier.

Sheppard tapped his ear piece, "Zelenka?" They had left the scientist sitting on the dock with a laptop computer balanced on his knees furiously typing in search parameters, while Weir passed back and forth mobilizing a medical team over the comlink.

"Got him!" Zelenka shouted, his excitement flashing through ear pieces. "He is West of your position, Major," Zelenka paused and then added, "That is to your left, Major."

Behind the wheel of the inflatable, Sheppard scowled his face in disgust, "I know it's to my left."

"Did not," McKay muttered. He squinted his eyes leaning precariously over the boat trying to search through the darkness of night.

Search beams crisscrossed the swollen swells which rolled lazily across the ocean surface. Small ripples peaked just enough to give the ocean a look of texture.

"There he is!" Ford shouted, stretched over the port side of the small vessel pointing frantically. "Doc!" Ford shouted to the floating body that appeared and slowly disappeared with the undulating roll of persistent ocean movement.

Sheppard nursed the boat through the water, his eyes searching the near black surface for an impossibly small shape in a hopelessly large area.

Then he saw the bobbing head and bright white feet. Was Beckett wearing socks? Death cloth to those in the rafting community, because socks apparently had the ability to suck body heat from the wearer and not dry quickly. Socks and water don't mix. Someone should take the time to inform Beckett.

"I see him," Sheppard finally breathed out as he gently throttled the boat forward. One jumper hovered nearby while the second headed back to Atlantis.

Ford was already buckling his life jacket and swinging a leg over the side of the pontoon.

"Okay...slow her down, Major," McKay directed keeping his eye on Beckett who appeared to be floating on his back as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"I'm going over," Ford called and slipped over the side of the boat as they pulled up next to the floating physician.

"Teyla," Sheppard called, "come here and grab the wheel and hold her steady." The major relinquished the controls of the inflatable to the Athosian and headed for the port side.

McKay did his best to keep the light on the two men in the water as the boat rocked.

Sheppard tried to reach down over the pontoon and grab Beckett with the next rising swell but was a few feet too short.

"Damn it." The major continued to lean over the side of the boat unwilling to give up. "He okay, Ford?" Sheppard asked

"Ahh, I think so," The lieutenant answered. He floated up behind Beckett who still lay on his back, arms spread out and hands hidden from view under the water.

"Hey, Doc," Ford said quietly as he slipped a supporting arm under Beckett's shoulders.

The Chief Medical Officer's reaction was both abrupt and violent. With a cry of alarm he flared his arms and apparently tried to stand up.

Ford had not managed to secure his rescue hold and felt the doctor slip from his grip and disappeared under the water with a strangled gasp.

"Shit," Aiden reached desperately for the doctor.

"Well, that went well," Rodney observed dryly from the side of the boat.

"Shut up, McKay," Sheppard ordered not sparing the scientist a look.

Beckett re-emerged only to submerge once again with a strangled yelp. He broke through the water a second time with flailing arms. His hands blindly found Ford's life vest and latched on and nearly succeeded in dunking both of them.

"No Doc," Ford gasped, "it's o…" Both disappeared under the water.

Sheppard was about to bail over the side of the boat but a second splash told him Rodney had beaten him to the punch.

"Son of a bitch, McKay!" Sheppard hollered. "Get a life jacket on!" The major grabbed one from the open space at his knees and swung it out into the melee.

A few yards from the boat, Ford and Beckett popped back to the surface like a mutilated cork. Ford's voice sounded clear over the ocean, "Easy Doc, knock it off. It's just me, Ford. It's Aiden. Come on, Doc, quit fighting me!" The young lieutenant's frustration started to filter through. His military training morphed his voice into sharp commands.

Beckett, naturally, and unknowingly, railed against it.

Sheppard leaned further over the pontoon trying to listen and catch a glimpse of the trio.

The sound of waves lapping against the boat was irritating him. They should be in the damn jumper.

"Major, a little light here would be good," Rodney's sarcastic tone went unregistered.

Sheppard adjusted the light and watched as McKay, with his life jacket under him and his casted arm sticking in the air like a lightening rod, kicked his way to Ford who was 'playing nice' and slowly losing his battle with Beckett.

Sheppard winced when Ford took an unintentional elbow to the cheek. Damn Scotsman could be a handful; Sheppard made a mental note of it.

"Carson," Rodney's unconcerned, conversational air surprised both the major and lieutenant.

Sheppard watched shocked as Beckett slowed his failing and tilted his head as if listening for something.

"Rodney?" The thick accent seeped tension from the water.

"You're drowning Ford," McKay pointed out. The medical doctor suddenly seemed to understand he had his arms wrapped tightly around Aiden's neck and forehead.

"Oh, sorry, lad," Beckett mumbled. He tried to loosen his grip and push away but found he had neither the strength nor the desire to be free floating without some sort of buoyancy under him. Ford and his personal floatation vest were just fine.

"No problem, Doc," Ford rasped out.

Rodney reached the drifting twosome and shifted his life vest over to Beckett in offering. "Come on, Carson, time to get in the boat."

"Aye," Beckett answered tiredly, resting the side of his head on the top of Ford's head once again effectively submerging the younger man. The cool water felt good against Carson's face.

He closed his eyes and sighed, "I'm not feeling so good, Rodney."

"I know, Carson, come on," McKay reached out with his good hand and slid the Scot into the life jacket.

Ford popped back to the surface wide eyed and gasping for breath. "Thanks, McKay."

Satisfied that the Ford and McKay had Beckett somewhat secured, Sheppard pushed away from the side and took the controls from Teyla. He tapped the throttle and slid the boat up next to the trio, killing the engine.

Together, he and Teyla hauled Ford up first. Then, with their combined strength, the three hauled Beckett out, who merely folded onto the rubber floor of the small boat.

"Hey, watch the arm, injured man here you know," McKay pointed out as his three teammates reached over to haul him into the boat.

Beckett lay curled on his side shivering, not caring or unaware of the motion and jostling of the soft bottom floor around him.

"Damn Doc, what the Hell were you doing out here?" Sheppard muttered, snapping out a folded blanket and dropping it over Beckett. It was a kind gesture but would offer little warmth. Sheppard figured it was best to just get back to the pier and the waiting medical team. He stepped over the bodies of his wet crew and grabbed control of the helm again.

"It's cold," Beckett muttered, cinching into a tighter ball with his hands fisted under his chin.

"Well, at least you're not hot anymore," Ford pointed out. He peeled Beckett's socks off and tossed them into the back corner of the boat, "Shouldn't wear socks in the water, Doc. They're death clothing."

"Aye, why are we at the beach?"

Sheppard tossed Beckett a worried look and then turned to Rodney who just frowned.

Teyla reached out and laid a practiced hand on the doctor's head, which he tried to shake off. "I think I have good news." The others all peered at her expectantly, "Dr. Beckett's fever is down."

"Physician heal thyself," McKay muttered, sitting heavily into a stern seat, pulling at the tenacious wet clothing that clung to him like a miserable, uncomfortable second skin. He rested the elbow of his casted arm on a stern cushion and held his cast straight into the air. With the acceleration of the boat, the night air cut through his clothing and skin like a razor edged knife.

McKay closed his eyes letting the wind dry his face.

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TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**THE PINK GAS**

**PART SIX: GOOD FRIENDS INDEED**

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Twelve hours later...

"Hey Doc, you awake?" Sheppard's voice

"Well, if he wasn't, he is now." Rodney sounded peeved.

"Dr. Beckett is a sound sleeper." Teyla was observant as always.

"Just hope he doesn't take another night swim."

Beckett furrowed his brow at Ford's comment. The lad was normally so practical if not a little unimaginative when naming something.

Beckett peeled his eyes apart. He tried to focus on the blurred faces above him but decided his visitors weren't quite worth the effort.

"Hey, I think he's waking up?" Ford's voice cut the mist.

"See? I told you he was awake." Sheppard sounded pleased with himself.

"No, he isn't. Look, he doesn't even see us." McKay had a point. Beckett thought he glimpsed the rapid waving of a hand near his face.

"He doesn't see us at all. He's still in la la land." McKay sounded put upon.

"Perhaps it would be best if we let Dr. Beckett sleep more." Carson appreciated Teyla's thoughtfulness.

"He's been sleeping since we hauled his butt out of the water last night." Oh the impatience of youth.

Beckett let his eyes settle closed and enjoyed the coolness of his...infirmary? Why wasn't he in his own quarters? He let himself drift figuring he would worry about the mystery of where he slept for another time.

"He's not waking up. Let's go get some dinner."

"It's about time. I can feel myself growing weak from hunger."

"Should we bring Dr. Beckett something back to eat?"

"I'm thinkin' he's not gonna wake up until morning."

Beckett listened half heartedly to the voices that disappeared from his little misty world. He relaxed and settled deeper into the bed, his muscles feeling like Jell-O.

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"Come on, Carson. It's time you woke up." Rodney's impatient tone had Beckett unpeeling his eyes. The lingering lethargy of the fever still saturated his muscles.

Carson blinked at the shadowed faces above him. He waited patiently for the blurred lines and fuzzy features to slowly grow sharper.

He raised an impossibly heavy hand to rub at his face. He heard an IV pole jostle and stutter on its stand. It was amazing--no matter what galaxy he seemed to be in, IV poles moved with the grace and smoothness of a two horse wooden hay cart.

"Whoa, easy, Doc," Sheppard softly ordered and gently clasped a hand over Beckett's wrist, stilling his movement.

"Here," Teyla's voice sounded somewhere from the other side of the bed. Soon a cool cloth wiped over his face, freeing his eyelashes from each other and washing some of the malaise away.

"How you feeling?" Sheppard asked, staring at the glazed blue eyes that fixated on him.

"You with us?" John asked again, understanding all too clearly the uneasy, disorientation of waking up in the infirmary with people staring at you.

Beckett watched Sheppard for a moment, blinked, and then let his eyes rove around the small curtained off area. It was packed with people. McKay, Sheppard, Teyla, and Ford. It was unsettling.

"We're on our way to lunch," McKay stated.

"Yeah and your Doctor wants us to bring you back something to eat," Sheppard stated.

"You must build up your strength, Dr. Beckett," Teyla added.

"Figured you'd better choose between the mac and cheese or ham and beans."

Beckett let his eyes travel from one speaker to the next. His eyes landed on Ford and stayed for a bit. Images of the ocean at night and Ford came to mind.

"Well?" Rodney's slightly impatient tone had Beckett swiveling his eyes to the astrophysicist. Beckett furrowed his brow. He remembered McKay in the water. "You got your cast wet." His voice ground harshly with ill use.

"Hardly by my own choosing, just saving another person's life. It seems all I do now, since coming to Atlantis."

Beckett continued to stare at McKay in confusion, trying to get the images of the ocean in the midst of night into order, trying to make sense of a fragmented memory.

He watched as Sheppard slapped McKay in the chest with the back of his hand, "Give the man a break, he was sick."

"Very sick," Teyla confirmed, again wiping Beckett's brow and face with the cold cloth.

"Hey, I had a cast on my arm; I was injured." McKay answered back stepping away from the bed, engrossed in his argument with Sheppard. "I didn't see you jumping in after him or helping Ford."

"You jumped in before I could! Besides I had to drive the damn boat," Sheppard pointed out indignantly as he stepped back from the bed and faced McKay.

McKay headed for the door waving his hand over his head in a dismissing motion, "Excuses, Major, excuses."

"What!" Sheppard stammered. "Why you pompous weasel," he sputtered, following the scientist toward the door.

Beckett followed them with his eyes. The slight look of confusion still creasing his face.

_A boat? Not a puddle jumper? Sheppard in a boat? Good friends indeed. _

"You okay, Doc?" Ford asked.

Beckett pulled his tired eyes from the two arguing men as they disappeared through the infirmary doors to the young soldier still at his bed side.

"Aye, tired."

Ford nodded in agreement, "I bet. How 'bout, I bring you back some mac 'n cheese?"

Beckett merely nodded, not truly caring, because he really wasn't hungry. He closed his eyes again, relishing in the cool cloth that swiped gently across his forehead.

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He woke to the lights of the infirmary set at their night levels. Beckett rubbed at his face, noticing the IV still persistently in the back of his hand.

Irritating things really. No better than leashes with a bite all their own.

"That witch doctor won't get rid of it until you eat something solid," McKay stated.

Beckett internally jumped at the sound of Rodney's voice. "Rodney, stop insulting my staff," Carson asked wearily but without much heart, "they've saved your accident prone self a time or two."

"I've tried telling him that, Doc," Sheppard piped up. Beckett searched behind Rodney and saw the Major sitting stretched out on the other bed with his ankles crossed and hands clasped behind his head. "Ford brought you back some lunch a few hours ago," The major crinkled his nose, "it dried back out, so we brought you some ham and beans from dinner."

"You going to stay awake this time, Carson?" Rodney asked. "It's getting tiresome to keep coming back here and watching you sleep the day away."

Beckett raised an eyebrow as he heard Sheppard choke out a laugh.

"That a new cast Rodney?" Carson asked with a bit of perturbedness in his tone.

"I got the old one wet, remember?" McKay fingered his new cast, pulling on the lining, testing the sturdiness of it, "saving your life."

"Honestly no, I don't remember, but that," Beckett nodded his head toward the cast, "is a different one from this morning."

"He's got you there Rodney," Sheppard chuckled.

"Yes, well…"

"Well?" Beckett waited.

"Aren't you tired?" Rodney asked.

"Not yet," Carson answered, "why the new cast Rodney?"

"Oh for God's sake," Sheppard jumped up off the bed and shoved McKay on the shoulder, "Come on, Answer Man, tell him how you melted the old cast."

McKay tossed Sheppard a withering glare. "It was an unforeseeable accident."

"You damn near burned your arm off."

"I did not," McKay answered indignantly.

Sheppard finally noticed Beckett's alarmed expression.

"Oh, don't worry, Doc, he put it out by sticking it in the bucket of water Dr. Zelenka keeps near the door for just those special occasions."

A resigned reprimand slipped out, "Oh, Rodney."

Beckett tried to raise his shoulders and head to sit up...to no avail.

He settled back against his pillow slightly frustrated that he didn't have the strength to sit up and that Rodney took no better care of himself than a wayward child too engrossed in playing to realize he might be hurt or even get hurt. There seemed to be no learning curve.

"Oh, no you don't," Sheppard stated. He reached down and gently pulled Beckett up into a sitting position, while McKay adjusted the pillow back against the infirmary wall. "You've got to eat something, remember," Sheppard reminded.

"Aye, ham and beans," Beckett sighed with resignation.

"What's wrong with ham and beans? I happen to like them."

Beckett cast a wary eye at the astrophysicist.

"Come on Doc, quicker you eat, quicker you lose your hanging buddy, quicker you get to go to the head on your own, quicker you get out of here."

"Major, I work here."

"Yeah, but from the other side of the bed; you've got to admit that's better than this side."

Rodney peeled back the tin with the ham and beans and loaded some onto a spoon.

"Give me that," Beckett snapped out. "I can feed myself ya know, been doin' it since I was a wee lad."

"Grumpy, isn't he?" Sheppard pointed out.

"Ungrateful," McKay complained.

The two settled into the two flanking beds bantering back and forth while Beckett slowly ate his MRE with slightly trembling hands.

Dr. Weir melted deeper into the shadows and carefully slipped out the door. Those three did more good for one another when they were shaken up or knocked down than any cure or antidote she could think of. She had to concede that they caused more difficulties and problems than any two or three people she knew in two galaxies. With a confident smile, Dr. Weir headed back to her quarters.

She'd visit her Chief Medical Officer in the morning when he didn't have such a crowd.

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-The End.


End file.
